Achilles' Fault
by Priestess of the Myrmidon
Summary: Not what you think. Andromache looks back at everything she lost when Hector died, and blames it on Achilles. And as stated earlier, I suck at summaries...just RR. Please...


Title: Achilles' Fault

Rating: PG

Summary: Andromache looks back at everything she lost when Hector died, and blames it on Achilles. And as stated earlier, I suck at summaries...just RR. Please...

Genre: Romance/Angst

Pairing: Hector/Andromache

Disclaimer: Troy is mine! I stole it yesterday from them... OK, so maybe I didn't, it still doesn't belong to me... but I can keep dreaming.

A/N: Uhh... I don't have one. Wait, yes I do! Ummm... you guys know the drill, italicized in paragraph thoughts or emphasis. And as y'all know, this'll be _UN-HOMER LIKE!_ I repeat, un-homer like, because this is the Troy section, duh!

A/N2: Well... uhhhh... never mind.

* * *

_Hector is gone._

Lung, parry, thrust, block. It had all seemed endless to her. When would the victor win? Who would win this battle for that matter? Would it be Hector, her dear husband and heir to the throne of Troy? Or would it be Achilles, mercenery warrior who killed only for his glory? Only time would tell the fretfull group of people...

But, Hector was plainly tiring, as his swings just got wilder and less calculated. All saw it.

_Hector is the finest soldier in Troy, _she told herself to mask her fear._ Surely he can beat Achilles!_

And then suddenly, all so suddenly, her world started to go wrong. Achilles had snatched the spear fragment from Hector's hand. What would he do with it? Surely Hector could block the spear, for Achilles did not mean to throw it, did he? Not a such a close range.

No, he didn't throw it, and he made Hector's death more unbearable for both Andromache and Hector. With a twirl, Achilles spun and slammed that hated spear into Hector's heart. Andromache's world came crashing down as Hector sank painfully to his knees, gasping for air. She just couldn't it watch anymore.

She slid down the stone wall and sat on the cold, hard and unforgiving floor. Helen, the cause of this war knelt beside the wife, _former_ wife, of Hectorand took her hand gently. Andromache started to cry, salty tears sliding down her pale cheeks.

Helen glance at the scene below, and buried her golden head into Andromache's shoulder. That was all she needed to know. Hector, defender of Troy, was dead. Killed by the blond fighter, Achilles. She started to sob wretchedly. Why did he have to die? Why!

Andromache wanted to die. Hector had been her life. Her laughter. Her lover. Her everything. And now he was gone. It was just so unfair!

Paris looked guilty, like a child caught sneaking into the kitchens to steal some food. Priam, Andromache's father-in-law started to shake his head in denial, and Paris was gazing over the high walls of Troy with murder in his eyes. Why were they looking like that?

She glanced around the wall and saw. Andromache looked in time to see Achilles start draging Hector's body behind a chariot. How could he? He'd already killed him, why did he feel the need to dishonor him? Why? Hector had shown respect for the boy he had killed, so why couldn't Achilles? Andromache answered her own question; Hector had been a man of honor, Achilles was not. She sobbed even harder at the thought that Hector's body was being desecrated at this very moment...

_Achilles' fault._

_Laughter gone._

"Andromache!" Hector shouted with a grin, chasing her quickly fleeting figure down the halls of Troy. He could hear her giggles as her dark hair flew behind her. Her breath became labored, and he was going to catch up with her. Both knew it.

When he was but a foot away from her, Andromache stopped dead and spun around, her white robe swirling with her. Hector would have gone right by her if not for his reflexes from being a warrrior. He picked her up and whirled her around.

"Hector!" she shrieked amid her laughter. Her husband joined in her laughter. "Hector, put me down!"

"Never!" he declared with a wide grin on his handsome face.

"Hector!" she dragged out his name.

"Hmmm... should I, my love, or should I not? No, I don't think I will."

"Please?" Anromache pleaded. She was getting quite dizzy.

"No!" he replied stubbornly. He was enjoying this too much to put her down.

"Come _on_, Hector! Please?" she pleaded with him to no avail.

"And why should I?" Hector carried his wife into their room, their laughter ecoing throughout the halls of Troy. He kicked the door shut as they entered, he gently dumped her on the bed, and pinned her wrists over her head.

"I don't like that look," she said with mock concern, gazing at the wide grin that spread over her husband's face. Then, reconition dawned on her face. "No! Hector, please!" The man started to tickle her. "Ah! Hector! No!" Andromache gasped in between her bouts laughter. She glanced up to see the madly grinning, tan face of her husband. She swung wildly at him, and he caught her arm easily.

"Now, my love, is that a good way to treat your husband?" He continued with the tickling as if she had never asked him to stop. Andromache's sides were beggining to hurt from her laughter, and her face was quite red. She struggled to absolutely no avail, trying to get out of his grasp and escape the torture.

Her husband's hair was beggining to escape its golden confines and Andromache's dark hair was spread on in a fan on the pillows, all her maid's hard work undone.

"I hope your parents beat you when you were younger," she muttered darkly. His answer was an insane grin that stretched across his face. "Maybe Priam hit your head too hard..." Andromache pondered out loud. Hector shook his head. "No? Then Hecuba most definately must have dropped you on your head when you were but a babe and you have never fully recovered from the damage that it inflicted on you brain."

"You shall pay for that comment, Wife!" The intensity of his tickling increased, and Andromache's laughter grew harder, and her breath more labored. Hector kissed her, and she returned it, her mirth forgotten. He nibbled on her earlobe.

Andromache could not help being silly. "Help!" she cried with mock horror. "Someone, please do help me! I'm being eaten by a Prince of Troy!" He returned her grin.

"And you taste quite nice, Andromache," her husband informed her.

"Well, there goes my excuse if a wolf decides attempts eat me when I go herb picking," she muttered. He kissed her nose lovingly.

"I think that they will be too busy staring at your beauty," he murmered with another smile and kiss.

"Flatterer!"

"I spoke the truth!" he informed Anromache indignantly.

"I"m sure," she retorted.

"You _are_ a priceless beauty, Andromache," Hector told her. "And not just in your appearance."

"I do try," said Andromache cheekily with a smirk. Her husband returned her grin. He kissed her again. "Hector?"

"Yes?"

"You're doing a horrible job of seducing me," she informed the prince.

"Am I really?" he asked her, raising his eyebrow, with another crushing kiss.

"No," Andromache told him, surrendering to a kiss.

_Achilles' fault._

_Our love gone._

They sat on the grassy hill that overlooked the sea. The waves were lazily lapping up on the sandy beach as the tide came in.

"Andromache?" Hector said.

"Hmmm?" she mumbled, snuggling up to him and gazing at the sea. He wrapped his arm arm around his wife.

"I love you."

"I love you, Hector," she replied, gazing at him. Their lips met in a kiss. And then Andromache had a good idea. It would interrupt their kiss, which she didn't want to do, but it was a good idea, never the less. "Hector?"

"Yes?"

"Let's go swimming," she murmered. His eyes widened, and then he grinned.

"Are yousure you know how to?"

"Yes!" she replied indignantly. "Briseis and Cassandra taught me. By the Gods! We've been married for over five years, and you don't think they've taught me how to swim?" she demanded incredeously. Hector looked taken aback.

"Well excuse me!" he muttered. Andromache smirked.

"Yes, you should excuse your self." He sniffed.

"Hmph!"

"You are truly quite insane," she informed him.

"That is quite possibly true," he retorted.

"Race you down to the sea!" she cried. Andromache took off. Of course, Hector beat her down to the beach. When Andromache reached her destination, Hector was there and she was panting.

"You, my love, are getting out of shape. Shame! You would think that my cousin and sister would keep you in shape with their little escapades." Andromache raised an eyebrow, stunned. "You think I don't know about those? No, don't answer. And," he said, changing the subject. "What are you going swimming in?"

"This. I'm just going to take off my sandals and cloak. What about you?"

"The same, I'm also just going to take of my cloak and sandals." Andromache let out a small yelp as she ran into the water. Her robe hungrily slurped up the water.

"Cold!" she informed him. Her teeth chattering and she was shivering.

"Brilliant observation, Love. I would never have known." He too stepped into the ocean, albeit more cautiously. However unwillingly, he too let out a small yelp when his flesh met the water.

"See?" she demanded of him, giggling. Hector, quite likely the finest soldier in the world yelps! His reply was a smile and a rasied eyebrow.

"I won't even ask what is so funny. I don't think I would like to know." He leaned over and kissed her sweetly.

_Achilles' fault._

_Everything gone._

Hector. Gone. She would never see him smile sweetly at her again.

Laughter. Gone. They would never chase each other down the halls of Troy with their laughter echoing througout.

Love. Gone. She would never kiss his lips again.

No picnics. No swimming in the ocean. Never again. The ocean would run red with Trojan blood like he had feared. That, she knew. While Hector had drawn in breath, she'd known that no one, no matter the size of their army, would conquer Troy.

Now? Now, she knew that Trojan blood would run and Troy would burn. She didn't want it, but Cassandra's procephies had always come true. Every time. Hector had told her that the night that Paris was born she run through the halls screaming to kill Paris.

Cassandra had been lucky. She wouldn't see Troy fall. She wouldn't see her family die. She wouldn't see the Trojans dieing because of one man's greed.

Hector had warned her, and she knew that when Troy burned, she would gather everyone she could, and they would escape. She couldn't let the Greeks kill Astyanax. Never!

Andromache swallowed hard as Hector's body was set on the prye. She was wearing a golden laurel leaf crown, and she was sitting next to Briseis and Helen. Helen carried Astyanax, for Andromache was not sure if she could herself. Tears streaked down her cheeks as her father in law, Priam, set the torch on the prye and climbed down the ladder along with Paris.

Paris. The cause of this war. Andromache had never really scolded Paris for his outings with woman. Perhaps she should have. She had known he was rash and did not think many times, but she hadn't expected such a rash descision as to bring Helen of Sparta back with them. How had Hector let her come?

Hector's body had been so deformed that Andromache had cried out when she had seen it. (Along with the rest of the family.) Most of both of his ears had been missing, and there were deep lines and inprints in his face that had not been there before that fatal fight.

Achilles had told Priam to take twelve days for the funeral games. Twelve days of peace. Most likely to supposedly show his remorse at his actions. Bah! Remorse from the killer? No, if Achilles was sorry he would have not sought out Hector's death. He would not have killed him. But he had, and life was painful for the princess.

Apollo damn everyone. Damn Paris for suducing Helen! Damn Achilles for killing Hector! Damn Helen for submiting to Paris' seductions! Damn Agammenmon for waging war on them! Damn Menelaus for going to his brother! Andromache was broken without him.

Hector had given her so much, and then Achilles had to take it allaway from her. Hector had been her everything. Her husband, her life, her friend, her confidant. Now he was gone. Forever.

Andromache hated when Hector had gone to war. She feared for him every second of the day, even though she knew he was one of the best. And when Troy was attacked, he became an uptight man, instead of the fun loving man she had been married to for a little over ten years.

Why had Paris acted so rashly? Why had the Gods willed this tragedy? Why had Apollo allowed this? Why?

If Paris had not taken Helen back to Troy with him, Troy would stand for many years to come. Astyanax would grow up knowing his father. Hector would not be dead. And she would not be so utterly alone for the rest of her life...

_Achilles' fault._

Please review! Click the "go" button and leave a review! And poem thingee by itself:

_Hector is gone.  
Achilles' fault._

_Laughter gone._

_Achilles' fault._

_Our love gone.  
Achilles' fault_

_Everything gone._

_Achilles' fault._

Priestess


End file.
